I'm just back from Canberra, which was surprisingly warm, considering that it was (and still is) Canberra. Brizzy, however, is a lot warmer, currently 25 degrees but forecast 33 tomorrow!
Last night we went to a new restaurant in Canberra, called Smoque, which I suppose you could call an American restaurant. All the dishes came with sides of corn bread, which obviously I didn't eat as I detest the stuff. In fact, everyone agreed with me once they tasted it - why people don't trust me, I do not know. Dougal (which is my nickname for him [his middle name is Douglas] so I can use it on my blog,) suggested that I try the suicidal chicken wings, and for some reason I trusted him.
Suicidal is apparently a term that means extremely insanely agonisingly hot and much hotter than anything else in the world and makes your mouth and lips and throat and stomach (I could go on but I will spare you) burn. Burn seems like a lame way to describe the feeling, but yeah, perhaps the term "suicidal" means that you want to commit suicide after eating them, and of course, having ordered them, I did have to finish them, although Dougal, to do him justice, did eat two - mind you they were lathered with ketchup which in my opinion dilutes the hot sauce and is cheating.
The meal also included a large number of BBQ pork ribs and sweetcorn and chips and the inevitable cornbread aforementioned (I do like that word), and was all around pretty good (except for the cornbread). M and S then decided that they wanted ice cream so we went trooping off around Canberra looking for an ice cream shop, although I'm not quite sure what planet they were on as it was 1900 and what ice cream shop would still be open at that time? None, apparently.
The supermarket, however, solved the problem and we bought copious amounts of ice cream, which apparently we had to finish - which made Dougal continuously complain about how full he was and how unfair for him to be forced to eat a third Crunchie ice cream after such a large meal and how he just wanted to die. Maybe it was the two chicken wings, who knows.
New South Wales has summer time, which means that despite it being on the same meridian oojie-whatsit, it is 1 hour ahead of Queensland. This of course meant getting up 1 hour earlier in the morning, for an already early start. Eugh. The one bonus about this was that we arrived home in Brisbane 1 hour earlier than we used to when there wasn't summer time. I mean, when NSW wasn't 1 hour ahead. You know what I mean!
Anyway, I'm sure I'm getting boring by this stage, so I shall quit writing.